A CHRISTMAS STORY
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ANNIE
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THE SOUND OF MUSIC
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After three previous regional
productions (including one with a since-jettisoned score by another writer),
the musical version of the 1983 holiday film favorite A Christmas Story has
arrived at the Lunt-Fotanne Theatre
and it is, after fashion, very
much worth having waited for. Which is to say, fans of the film will not be
disappointed; and those who don’t know the film, or remember it only vaguely (I
fit into the third category, for the moment) won’t feel left out or wishing
they’d been baptized by the film experience first.
This
is more of an accomplishment than it might seem, because while the story
certainly features characters who want things that serve as strong enough
objectives to carry them through an evening of musical theatre, A Christmas
Story is, at core, an episodic story
about a family; and those I Want objectives
are but a literary adhesive that holds the anecdotes together. So there’s a
fine balance between dramatic arc structure and a nostalgic revue (with
continuing characters) that dare not out itself as such, about middle-America
family life circa 1940 at Christmastime. What further distinguishes the
enterprise is that it’s not the usual sentimental stuff; A Christmas Story is drawn from the somewhat fictionalized recollections
of the late columnist and radio raconteur Jean Shepherd, and they are wry memories about human foibles and
absurdity—that in the end just happen to strike a sentimental chord because they’re so
affectionate.
The
accomplishment is more impressive still because the creative team have wisely
decided not to mess with the film’s basic structure or framing gimmick—a
running commentary by Jean Shepherd himself. In the film it was a voice-over.
But as Mr. Shepherd is no longer with us, and as this is, after all, live
theatre, he is here a narrator-in-the-flesh and in the body of burly Dan
Lauria. And while Lauria doesn’t
imitate Shepherd’s voice or rhythms, his physicality and sensibility create a
spot-on evocation of his spirit.
I’d
rather not detail the famous bits or even identify the wants—if you know
the film, they won’t be news; if you don’t, their discovery is part of the
fun—but I’ll tell you that the casting of the family is delightful and
accurate from Johnny Rabe as
Ralphie (Shepherd’s childhood surrogate) to his parents: Mother (Erin Dilly) and The Old Man (John Bolton). And there’s a very agreeable supporting cast
too—all hitting their comedy marks expertly under the guidance of the
show’s new director, John Rando,
who tends to be a good man where getting a laugh is concerned.
I’ve
alluded to the success of John Robinette’s libretto above. As to the score by the still-relatively-young team
of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul; it doesn’t burst at the seams to explore new
devices, as their later score for Dogfight (seen
earlier this season at Second Stage) did; then again, this is a very specific
entertainment with a very specific agenda, and what they have delivered is a
credible enough Christmas score to fondly familiar at holiday time…and one with
enough solid matter for its cast to sink their teeth into. Not only can’t you
ask for more than that…but any songwriters with this gig would probably have
gotten fired trying to delver more. This is not a show where you try to aim the
BB gun above the material, but aim straight at its center.
Any
other strategy and you’d only shoot your eye out, kid.
For the most part, fans of
the Martin Charnin/Thomas Meehan/Charles Strouse musical Annie seem to be in
good spirits about the production. It tells the story cleanly, it doesn't seek
to do anything revolutionary or game-changingly revisionist (despite having the
often trail-blazing James Lapine as director)—and in any sense that
matters, it's the classic show served straight up.
Side
by side with this, however, is the fact that while Lapine hasn't hurt the show,
he hasn't directed with the fullest possible grasp of how its elements work
best. Here are two representative examples: (1) While on paper the casting of Kate Finneran as Miss Hannigan—the slatternly, mean-spirited
operator of the girls’ orphanage from which Annie escapes—seems a
fantastic idea, Ms. Finneran being one of those delicious natural comediennes
who can bring the house down with an impeccably timed raised eyebrow, in three
dimensions she falls far short of fantastic. In part because—and it sees
odd to say this of Miss Hannigan—she mugs too much; to borrow the famous
line Lynne Fontanne offered to her husband Alfred Lunt when he lost the
audience response to a joke, she spends way too much time asking for the laugh
instead of asking for the cup of tea (i.e. what her character wants). But
that’s a mutually shared indulgence between actress and director and somewhat
adjustable if they choose to solve it. Here’s the bigger problem and it’s not
adjustable: Kate Finneran is leggy-pretty. Even in floppy, comic clothing made
to make her look like a man-repellant, too self-delusional to know she’s not
seductive when she turns on “the charm”; even though she plays the lush card
for all it’s worth; it’s apparent that Ms. Finneran is a dish who can in real
life have any man she wants with the crook of her little finger. And even
though she’s playing against her natural persona, its aspect of vulnerability
and warmth fights her back such that you don’t entirely believe she really wants
to be that mean to the kids. It’s a little like watching an adult avatar in a
role-playing game, in which the kids play along with the rules because it’s
fun. This discrepancy is not overt, despite the broad strokes of the role and
its requirements; it’s rather a subtle disconnection, and it’s why Ms. Finneran
entertains like a great pro…but never knocks it out of the park. (2) This
revival comes with some newly conceived arrangements and orchestrations, which
are expert, pleasant and attractive…but mostly unnecessary. At a guess I'd say
the mandate was probably to remove artifacts of 70s pop music that had
occasionally, anachronistically (for a show set during the Great Depression),
colored the original accompaniments. But those fills and riffs also contributed
to the flavor and character of the score, and little with the same kind of
iconic signature has taken their place…so the adjustment is one of those
successful operations that doesn't actually help the patient.
But
as I say, the show itself seems to have a Teflon resistance to smaller missteps
so long as it’s allowed to be what it is; and it has been. Lilla Crawford is an adorable and credible enough Annie to win over
all but the most cynical; and Australian actor Anthony Warlow is so tough-guy/soft-heart engaging, and with such a
magnificent, easy baritone, that he could win over a cynic too.
And
that’s the report from Orphan Central.
**********************
There's a very decent revival
of The Sound of Music at
the Paper Mill Playhouse. James
Brennan's staging represents the
usual utility work done by that cadre of journeyman directors who make a
credible living getting standard musical theatre repertoire on its feet in
regional venues—unspectacularly but with the proficiency of old hands at
the game of doing the shows accurately and otherwise staying out of their way.
However, he has cast his two leads brilliantly, and even a little
adventurously. Not that they're radical, experimental departures from basic
intention, but in keeping with contemporary technique, they bring a good deal
of close-up (yet stage-friendly) realism to the table. Elena Shaddow's Maria is so moment-to-moment specific, and
palpably, vulnerably connected, that she seems to make the audience hear those terribly familiar
lyrics for the first time, as evidenced by their fresh reactions to moments of
humor and revelation—or (not so) simple word play. And Ben Davis's Captain Von Trapp has an easy, confident maleness
and sexuality of the kind that used to mark oldschool leading men, but
delivered with newschool nuance. Easy also describes the vocal technique of
both; these are truly great musical theatre voices, and in a different era
their distinct signatures would have made them stars by now. (Full disclosure:
I've worked with Elena Shaddow but that doesn't make me biased—only more
of a connoisseur.) In the supporting role of the Captain's obviously temporary
fiancé, Donna English is the
quintessence of entitled, upper crust beauty. And Suzanne Ishee—a longtime theatre veteran who is welcome news
to me—achieves the balance between sternness and compassion perfectly as
the Mother Abbess, and gives “Climb Every Mountain” with a fine, clear, ringing
soprano delivery.
There
is, however, a bit of a false note
struck—not cripplingly or outrageously but noticeably—by Edward
Hibbert as the Captain's best friend,
impresario Max Detweiler; Max should be avuncular, a benign social parasite and
maybe a bit of a (harmlessly) dirty old man into the bargain. But Mr. Hibbert's
specialty is portraying older middle-aged characters who are bitchy and effete
(usually entertainingly); and implicitly or explicitly homosexual, which is an
inextricable part of his stage persona. And in the context of The Sound of
Music—and indeed of the Rodgers
and Hammerstein sensibility—it stretches credulity for the Nazi high
command to let that conspicuously flamboyant a fellow maintain his position as
Cultural Minister, much less promote him from third to first grade, even
overseeing his native Austria. (As a point of academic history, this does not,
I’m certain, give most of the audience even a minute’s worth of worry
[historically, in fact, there were closeted homosexuals in the Nazi high command];
but the audience doesn’t warm to Max as the Von Trapp kids do,
either—which one must to find the lightness in his too-accommodating
political philosophy—and that’s because the casting of Mr. Hibbert lacks
authenticity and feels at odds with the universe.)
But
all things considered—including the children playing the Von Trappettes,
who are able and charming—that’s a minor bump in an otherwise effective and moving production.